


Powderkeg

by Anonymous



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Divorced Clint Barton, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Loss of Virginity, Mild Femsub, Past Clint Barton/Laura Barton, Spanking, sparring turns to sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:14:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28793748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: After the events of Civil War, Clint goes into hiding with Team Cap.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Wanda Maximoff
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6
Collections: Five Figure Fanwork Exchange 2020





	Powderkeg

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dirty_diana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirty_diana/gifts).



The divorce papers come while he's still in stir, hanging out in an underwater cell thinking about his life choices and wondering if Nat is ever going to speak to him again. He's allowed to read the papers through the door, not touch them in case he gets any ideas of making a papier-mâché bow or commit suicide by paper cut. Doesn't matter. Clint reads the legal bullshit, and if prison wasn't enough of a clue, he knows his life is over by the time he reaches the last page.

It's not like the others are in a much better place. Sam is fuming. Wanda has withdrawn back inside herself, closed up in the same scared, sad ball she curled into after Pietro's death. Scott has found his own calm, drumming a private solo and spacing out in his cell like he stopped off in Amsterdam on the way here.

Clint falls inside his own head for a long time, marking out the hours by the crappy meals and his limited bathroom breaks, not speaking to the others even as Sam and Scott strike up conversations between their cells, or as they try and fail to draw Wanda in. 

"Hey kid," he says after a couple of days of feeling sorry for himself. "How're you feeling?"

Wanda ignores him, and she probably should. Clint was the one who sprung her from the Avengers compound and got her stuck in here. Her last prison had doors and windows and an android with puppy eyes ready to cook dinner for her. The Raft has cold steel and the constant threat of a containment breach sending them all to a short, quick, choking death. He should have left her back at home.

"Hey," he says again, hours later. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this."

"It doesn't matter." Her voice is sad and tight. "I chose to go with you."

"I talked you into it."

"No. I wanted to go. Your speeches are terrible. You didn't convince me of anything." The tone is downtrodden, but there's a spark insider her words, a remnant of the fiery spirit he knows. Wanda's beaten down, but even after all she's been through during her miserable life, she's not broken yet.

He smiles grimly. "Fine. Call it fifty percent my fault. You would have stayed put if I hadn't come to get you."

She doesn't argue. She doesn't say anything.

* * *

When Steve finally comes to spring them, Clint lets out a long breath he's been holding inside. He's known the moment would come. Steven Rogers is as much built out of loyalty to his friends and the people and ideals he cares about as he is whatever magical concoction Tony's dad and his partners brewed up in WWII. He's no more capable of leaving them to rot in jail than he is of spontaneously growing a third leg from the middle of his chest. The question was never if Steve would come, the question was what Clint planned to do when he did.

Scott is staying put. "I can't let my daughter down again," he says, with an openness that should be charming but instead sends frigid cold into Clint's fingers and toes. He joked about disappointing his kids by coming to Berlin. They're a lot more disappointed now. Laura is past disappointed and is done with him, finally, after everything. Clint could choose to sit here in this cell, do his time, and try to make things up to her and to them. Talk Laura out of the divorce, promise to be there for her from now on, no matter what, show that he is going to be there every day for the children. Nathaniel needs a lot of attention, and Cooper and Lila are no help. Sense says to stay, agree to do his time, try to rebuild his family.

Steve wishes Scott luck, and Scott gets that awed face again because Captain America is speaking to him. Clint knows Captain America a little too well, and wonders how starry-eyed Scott would be if he too had seen Steve wandering around the morning after a party in just his underpants. Scott may be doing the sensible thing, but that doesn't mean he knows anything at all.

As Wanda steps out of her cell, she looks at Clint. "Are you staying in there all day?"

Sense is something Clint always assumed he had in big buckets. He leaves it behind in his cell, and follows his team out of the Raft and into whatever bad idea they're about to come up with next.

* * *

Wakanda is pretty damn amazing. Clint spends his time gawking like some kid on his first trip into the big city, trying not to point in amazement as ships whiz by and miracles occur unremarked along the busy streets. Had you asked him a month ago, he couldn't have found this country on a map of Africa with multiple guesses, and the very little he'd osmosed told him Wakanda was a poor, simple, humble nation with generically-interchangeable simple, humble farmers toiling the rugged land. To his credit, and he knows it's not much credit, that's their intention and the face they show to the outside world. Better for the rest of the planet to assume Wakanda is meek and unimportant than to catch the attention of military powers who would see their technological marvels and drive in with tanks to seize it for themselves. Not that those armies would win, Clint understands, watching a blue force field shimmer into life beside him and just as casually shimmer away again, but the mess and the noise would irritate the Wakandans, who seem happy to be left alone in their marvelous home.

Clint and his friends stick out here, foreigners in a land that has no use for strangers. They can't stay. T'Challa is kind enough to allow them this brief interlude while Steve and Bucky figure out what to do about the latter's compromised mental triggers. As soon as they reach the conclusion everyone here knows they must, the rest of them will be moving on out of this sanctuary and into their new chosen lives as fugitives.

For the moment, though, it's all right. Clint is happy to view the wonders around himself, take in the sights, and daydream about living here full time. He watches Wanda interacting with a handful of Wakandan children. She forms tiny red figures out of pure energy for their delight, and they respond with toys of their own doing the same in blue. There's an ease to her face and her body he hasn't seen in a long time. Happiness looks good on her.

She notices his stare, and he realizes he's staring. He passes it off with a friendly grin, and moves away, drinking in these amazing sights, and wishing he could tell the kids about them.

* * *

Going from country to country used to be as simple as hopping into a Quinjet and assuming S.H.I.E.L.D. was dealing with the air traffic controllers in the airspace he was crossing. They have a ship but they also have to worry about getting shot down. T'Challa was kind with his parting gifts: a transponder that can mimic any signal they want, a set of passports that change nationality and identity as they need. Clint doesn't know why the new King of Wakanda is being so generous to people he was fighting hand-to-hand against a couple of weeks ago, but Wanda had tried to kill them all before too and he figures this is just something that happens with people like them. There's a weird-ass kinship that comes with masks and capes and powers, and even if Clint lacks all three, he's a part of that disjointed family as much as any of them.

Also, he has part of his own superglued-together family back with him. Nat joined them when they crossed the border into Egypt. It's good to have her at his side again, even if her eyes are darker and more haunted than he remembers.

Laura likes Nat. Liked. Clint has to remind himself to consider his ex in the past tense now. He doesn't know what or who she likes, and it's no longer his place to care. He's not the type to get drunk and show up on her doorstep screaming and crying and begging for her to take him back, even if he wouldn't be arrested as soon as he set foot back in the U.S. or anywhere else he's recognized. Laura is his past, but in that past, she liked Nat a great deal. She wasn't sure about her husband's relationship with a drop-dead gorgeous Russian spy. Like, really not sure. It took a lot of long talks for them to get to the place where she understood he loved Nat, but Nat wasn't and never could be someone he was in love with, and the same held true in reverse. They were brothers-in-arms except one of the brothers was the sister Clint had never known he'd needed in his life. Laura had come around, and now they're friends. As much as Clint misses his family and his life, he knows Nat misses them just as much. Somehow, that makes it easier.

There was a time when it had just been the two of them on mission after mission. Then came the Avengers and a whole team they'd had to get used to fighting beside, equipped with powers and abilities neither of them could bother making time to dream of. Now there's a new, sleeker, smaller team, not entirely different from the one they were building at the Avengers compound but missing vital pieces.

It's night, and they've found a nice place to hunker down for the time being, some rundown old ex-Hydra base in Ankara. Nat is off talking strategy with Steve and Sam, figuring out their next move, their ongoing plans. They might have to split up soon to stay deeper in hiding.

Wanda's back inside her own head again. Clint can guess why. Vision was on the news today, helping rescue people during a bridge collapse in Albany. Slow news day, to show superheroes this far from home, but 'home' is a word with teeth in it, and Wanda hadn't been the same since.

"You miss him," Clint says.

She looks up at him from inside her private world. "I miss all of them." There's a moment, and a lifetime of pain over her face, and he realizes she's not thinking about Vision, but about all the people she's lost.

"What's today?"

She gives a little shrug, and he knows it's important. Maybe it's her birthday, and she's thinking of Pietro. Maybe it's the day her parents died. Doesn't matter much. She's hurting.

Clint sits next to her and wraps his arm around her. He doesn't tell her it's going to be all right. Wanda presses into his touch, lost and sad, and weeps for things that have no words to encompass the pain of their absence.

* * *

They're in Chisinau when it happens. Another gang fight, another bunch of local thugs who don't expect a Falcon to fly in to rescue the civilians they've gotten caught up in the crosshairs, or Captain America to knock them into a wall. In turn, their team – the Novengers as Sam's been calling them lately and the Secret Avengers as Steve keeps trying to get him to say instead – doesn't expect someone to grab Wanda and snap a collar around her neck that snuffs out her powers like a light.

She screams and fights them, but Nat's pistols are what save her as she collapses, scratching at the horrible thing at her throat.

Clint takes down the other two attackers who think they've still got a chance, sticking them with arrows that pierce their clothes and staple them to the nearest walls. Then he bends to Wanda's side, trying to figure out this collar that's making her turn and hiss and cry. "Cap!"

Steve punches another guy, and the ones still on their feet take the hint and run for it. In a few paces, Steve's there, and with a flex of his muscles, he rips the thing off her.

"What is that?" she asks, staring in horror.

Steve looks at it, mystified, and hands it to Sam. "Any ideas?"

"Could be Hydra tech." He makes a face and it's a face he makes a lot these days. The face says Tony could figure this out in an hour or less, but they're not calling Tony.

"Right." Steve makes like he's going to crush it between his hands, but Wanda stops him.

"Don't. I want to see if I can find a way around it next time." With a worried look, Steve passes the collar over.

* * *

A few days later, Wanda requests self-defense lessons from Clint and Nat. "I didn't know how to defend myself without my powers. If it happens again, I need to be ready."

She's rough. She hasn't had to rely on her own muscles and wit to fight, not since the supernatural energy started flowing through her courtesy of her Hydra upgrades. Nat drops her to the ground over and over with the most basic of moves. "Keep an eye on your center of gravity," Nat tells her, and drops her again.

"Like this," Clint says, and takes her arms, putting them into position to counter Natasha's movements, settling his hand on her stomach to press in and down to get her to bend her knees and spread her feet. "Now try."

It goes a little better each time, but only a little. Clint finds himself positioning her more than he should. "Pay attention to how your body feels in this stance. Your back is over the center of where you're standing. That makes you less likely to fall." He throws a sudden punch at her, and Wanda blocks him, then smiles in pride.

"Not bad," says Nat, lashing out. Wanda's not as good at blocking this one, but she doesn't fall down. "All right," Nat says. "Let's go again."

* * *

They split up in Warsaw. It's not forever, only for a month or two to get the authorities off their scent. Steve and Sam are headed to Romania, while Clint and Nat are taking Wanda to Kiev. They'll regroup soon enough, and it's easier to blend in this way with a smaller number, even if "easier" is relative. There's always a fight that needs stepping into, or a local dispute that gets out of control. The tough part about being on a superhero team is that superheroing never stops being your job. Laura couldn't understand that. She tried, but she assumed it was like being an accountant or an insurance salesman, and when Clint came through the door, he set aside being Hawkeye and was just this regular guy home with the wife and kids.

He shoots an armored car, stopping it dead for Wanda to rip apart like paper and free the women being transported inside.

This is nothing like any other job he could ever have, and that suits him fine.

* * *

Nat leaves them after three weeks. "I've got something I've got to do."

He takes her arm. "Then we go with you and help."

"I wish you could." She looks over at Wanda. "Especially you. He's kind of dead weight." It's one of their old jokes, from before everything, which tells him this is very old business for her. He saw the middle-aged man in the street the other day, and noted how long Nat talked with him.

"Call us if you wind up needing backup. Swear."

She meets his eyes then pulls him into a quick hug. "I swear." And she's gone, and like every time Nat walks away to go on a solo mission, or even just leaves after a visit, part of him is terrified this is the end and he's never going to see her again.

"We should keep moving," Wanda says.

"Yeah." They've got their magic passports. An idea strikes him. "You want to go home for a while?"

* * *

Novi Grad is long gone but the rest of Sokovia has been rebuilding steadily since the last time they were in the country. Wanda documents things in her diary like she's describing them to someone who can't see them, and he's almost positive the person she's talking to is her brother. She's living her life for both of them. Wanda and Clint walk along the streets and alleys of the new capital city, and for the first time since they went into hiding, she's the expert, speaking the language, knowing what to order at the street vendors, finding them a place to live that's not as dingy as the last few shelters they wound up squatting in. It's not a rambling farmhouse on a spacious set of land, but it's cleaner than his first apartment was. There's fresh paint on the walls, including the eye-bleeding pink sprucing up the kitchen cabinets, new fixtures in the tiny bathroom, and a balcony with a nicer view than he'd expect for €60 per week.

They've returned to the training. Clint's not as much of an expert in hand to hand as Nat is, but he's pretty good, and he teaches her as they spar. Wanda is showing improvement day by day. Sure, she's got her magical whatsit powers, but he's getting to the point where he'd be all right dropping her into a bar brawl and assuming she'd walk out with most of her teeth.

During one session, she goes back to her travel bag and pulls out the collar.

"You still have that thing?"

"Of course," she says, and to his shock, she places the cool metal around her own neck. "Now we are more evenly matched."

"I thought that hurt you?"

"I did, too. It doesn't." She puts up her fists. "Come at me, bro," she says in a terrible American accent. Clint attacks, starting with a feint and getting a punch through, Wanda manages to sweep his legs from under him and they fall together.

She laughs, pleased in what she considers a triumph, and for a moment, all he sees is a beautiful girl, happy to have tumbled to the floor with him. For a moment, everything is all right, better than all right, and then his brain kicks him in the pants. She is a girl, almost half his age, and he's supposed to be watching out for her.

"Right," he says, flowing to his feet and offering her a hand. "Let's try that again." 

They take their positions opposite one another. Wanda's giddy now, pleased with herself. He'll have to push her harder this time. He attacks again, just as pleased as she is when she blocks his punch and his followup kick. She gets in a good roundhouse against him before he pushes her back and gets her shoulder. She huffs her disapproval and attacks him, and he blocks her easily.

"You're telegraphing your moves. Don't let me know what you're planning."

Irritated now, she feints and gets him with a jab to his solar plexus, which he's expecting and a punch to his nose, which he's not.

"Ow," he says, pulling back, "and good."

She attacks him again and he grabs her, his hands suddenly full of her as he shoves her away, tries to shove her away, but her face is next to his and she kisses him with an impulsive fire.

Clint's brain stutters to a sharp halt.

"Uh." Smooth, Barton, he thinks. Learn that in Avenger school, did you?

"Sorry," she says, her face coloring. She turns away, pulling off the collar and dropping it onto the rug. "I'm sorry."

"Hey," he says, reading the shock and embarrassment in her suddenly hunched posture. "Don't worry about it. You get into the heat of a fight, the blood flows, you do things you don't mean." He passes the moment off as a joke. "Laura used to be worried I'd go into a battle with Nat and wind up doing her on top of a tank." Now that he says it out loud, it's not that funny.

"You and Black Widow go far back."

"We do. As I had to keep explaining to my now ex-wife, Nat's my best friend, and only my best friend."

Wanda considers this. "Am I your friend?"

"Of course. You and I are good friends, right? We've got each other's backs. Who'dve thunk it, kid?"

She gives him a look, one too old for her years. "I'm not a kid."

"Compared to me you are."

"I don't want to be compared to you, Clint." She moves closer. Without the collar, she's got her powers back, and she's filled with an aura he has spent a lot of time trying to ignore and excuse. She's a kid, he's always told himself. Practically a little girl, even though she's old enough to drink in every country they've passed through together. He's promised himself to watch over her, protect her, repay the debt fucking Pietro placed on him without asking when he died and Clint survived. He wrapped Laura and the kids into his reasons why the things he thought and felt weren't possible, but they're gone, and Wanda is here.

God, she's gorgeous.

"Wanda, I can't give you what you want."

"I haven't asked you for anything." She touches his arm, then his face. "But you keep giving. You're strong when I need someone to be strong. You remind me to be brave when I need to be strong myself."

"You're plenty strong," he says, because he feels no strength at all right now, not looking into her needy, open eyes. "You can do things I can't dream of. You don't want me. You want some hero."

"You are my hero," she says, and kisses him again, and this time he opens his mouth under hers with a soft whine. He can feel the press of her powers against him, and taste the desire she's been covering inside. She wants him, has wanted him, and he's spent the last several months, maybe the last few years, telling himself he doesn't want her.

His reasons fray inside his head, and crisp under the fire of her mouth against his. His excuses are ash, are nothing. All that remains is this beautiful woman, and the desire bubbling inside him.

This tiny apartment only has one bedroom. Wanda's been sleeping there and Clint's been doing couch time in what passes for the living room. She pulls him into the bedroom now, kissing him at each step. Clint's hands find her shoulders, her hair, and no escape.

His hands drop to her sides, run down the gentle slopes of her body under her clothes, then grasp onto the firm curves of her buttocks under the thin tights she's wearing today. She shivers against him, and his hands move forward, touching her thighs before sliding one hand between her legs. Even through the tights, he feels the spreading dampness of her need, and he groans into her mouth as she gasps.

"You okay?" he breathes into her, and she nods before she takes another kiss.

"No one's ever touched me there."

A deeper groan rumbles in his throat, and he latches his teeth gently into the skin of hers, raking down her neck and enjoying the shudders this sends through her. "Tell me what you want," he says.

Wanda says nothing, only kisses him more, tugging him down to her bed.

"No," Clint says, taking her hands and pushing them down. "I can't do this as a game, Wanda. I need your words. All of them. What you want. When you want me to stop. I can't read your mind."

Frustrated, she takes him into another kiss. "I want you to sleep with me. I want to sleep with you." He takes took pity on her. She has a better grasp of English than half the people he knew in Missouri, but she's learned it from television and movies and books, and there are phrases she's not going to use as readily as someone born to the language might.

Still, he thinks, he wants to be clear. "You mean you want to fuck."

"Yes," she says into his mouth. "I want to fuck."

Not that he had any doubts, not with her taking his hand and planting it on one breast under the light sweater she's wearing, not with her need dampening her tights as she moves against him. This is a bad idea, says the little voice inside his head. She ought to have candles and fine lace and soft music as some fresh-faced youth takes her virginity, not some washed-up Avenging ex-carny. But he's the one here now, and he's the one she wants.

They tug off her sweater together. He already knew she wasn't wearing a bra today, and his mouth finds the sweet peak of her right nipple, sucking it into his mouth as she cries out in shock. He's already hard as a rock inside his pants, and if she makes many more noises like the one she's making as his hand teases her other nipple, he's going to wind up with messy briefs and a disappointed woman in bed with him.

Just the thought of sliding into her is almost enough to set him off.

He plays with her breasts a while, calming himself down. He needs to make this good for her. His hands find the waistband of her tights, and backing away from her as he goes, he pulls them down the creamy expanse of her thighs to her knees. He leaves them there, bunched up and holding her legs together as he slides his hand between her thighs again, this time running his palm up to the dark thatch of hair and stroking the soft, wet skin he finds hiding under it with one finger.

Wanda shouts and bucks, her body twisting, and even though he was sure she'd been telling the truth, now he's positive. No one has touched her this way, maybe not even herself. Jesus.

"Show me how you touch yourself," he says in the same voice he uses to order her in a fight.

She stares up at him, eyes wide and pleading.

"Go on," he says, and shucks off his own shirt. "I want to see what you like."

The color is high on her cheeks again as she reaches between her own legs, her fingers pressing in against the same place he just touched. She makes quick, furious moves with her hand that he can't really see, but it tells him enough. "Good girl," he praises her and she moans.

He leaves his pants on, knowing if he doesn't, this will be over far too soon. He grabs hold of her legs, still bound with her tights, and rolls her over, positioning her like he would prepare her for a spar session. In a fight, he wouldn't push her knees to poke her ass into the air as she bends over in front of him. He can tell she's worried, expecting a hard, painful thrust from behind. What she wants from sex and what she knows about it are not the same. Anyway, he just wanted a better view. He kneels on the bed behind her and presses his mouth against her cunt.

She's spread open like this, and he licks against her vaginal opening for a moment, tasting the rush of fluid this earns him. His tongue delves down and locates her clit. With a tender attention, he tastes it, plays with it, sucking softly as Wanda makes gorgeous, soft, broken noises into the pillow. In less than a minute, she bucks against him, crying and coming as he keeps his lips and tongue against her, tasting the rich, sweet flavor of her dripping into his mouth.

He wants nothing more than to unzip and shove into her just like this, and it takes superheroic restraint not to.

Clint helps Wanda down to the bed, onto her side, and he kisses her, letting her taste her own juicy desire on his lips. Her eyes are huge in the low light, and she trembles with aftershocks.

"Have you at least done that before?" he asks, soft and playful.

She bites her lips. "It doesn't feel the same when I do it."

"Never does." He kisses her again, then gets to work on his belt. To his surprise and delight, Wanda sits up, strips off her tights the rest of the way, then helps him unzip his pants. Before he can get them off, she's pulled down his briefs and her small, cold hand takes hold of his cock. He lets out a hiss which turns to a moan as she starts to stroke.

"Good?" she asks with a mischievous smile.

"Good," he says, although 'not bad' would be a better description. She doesn't know what she's doing, and that's good because if she did, he'd be ready to pop now. He lazes back for a moment, enjoying the feel of her hand and kissing her.

She looks at his cock. "I could put it into my mouth."

"Believe me, I want to explore that option, but not tonight."

"You think there will be more options after tonight?" She gives him that look again, the one older than her years.

"I'd like to think so. Going to be your call, kid."

"I'm not a kid." She kisses him again, and she's already getting better at that.

"Fair." That changes the mood a little. "Speaking of kids, we should talk about protection."

"You and I both had regular checkups by the medics in the compound, unless you've been finding time away from us since then. And Hydra ensured I wouldn't be able to infringe on their patent on my genetic upgrades." There's a layered expression on her face, and an acceptance inside her words he wouldn't expect. "We're protected enough."

His head swims with this information. He was expecting to lick her to another orgasm, then have to take a break to go buy some condoms from the local store, assuming the local stores around here even carry them. But she's right that they're both clean, and if she's right about Hydra's work, there's no reason for him to get out of bed. She wants him to bareback her. The thought very nearly fries his brain.

Part of the plan is still in place. "Lie back," he tells her, and spreads her knees wide with his hands. He bends in to his work again, enjoying the taste of her, appreciating the warmth of her thighs against his hands and the sweet, high cries she makes as he nuzzles and licks at her clit. His fingers spread her labia wide, rubbing against her opening. She's wet, so wet he can barely think. He slides the tip of one finger into her, pushing in as he licks her clit harder, easing her while her tight cunt clenches him. Too tight. If he doesn't open her, this is going to hurt.

Wanda pants as he changes his attention, rubbing his left thumb against her clit while he slides a second finger into her vagina. The pressure is intense. He moves his fingers, spreading them, spreading her.

"Clint, please," she says, writhing under the touches.

"Please what?" He moves his thumb a little faster.

"I want you to fuck me," she says in a small voice.

"Say it louder."

"Fuck me," she says, loud and clear and guttural in her need.

Clint removes his hands and leans over her, covering her with his body. He kisses her now with simple passion, electric sparks moving through him everywhere skin touches skin. His dick is trapped between them, hard and leaking against her. He wants her, wants this.

"I want you to come again," he says into her mouth. "Come for me again, and I'll fuck you."

Wanda groans as his fingers return to her clit, rubbing against her the way she rubbed herself. She's on the edge, ready to tumble over again, and he pushes her, rubbing more. "Come, Wanda. Come for me."

Her face breaks into an expression almost of pain as her body quakes in another orgasm. This is what he's been waiting for. Even as she shudders, he grabs his cock and slides the tip into her, blazing inside his head with his own pleasure as the heat and pressure of her cunt clamps down on him. He pushes in with a slow thrust he can barely maintain as she cries out, her hands flapping against him.

He kisses her cheeks, kisses her eyelids as tears leak. "Shhh. Shhh. It's going to be all right. Tell me to stop if you need." She violently shakes her head no, even as another moan grows in her mouth. He pushes more and he's in, balls-deep and clutched so tight he's half afraid he can't get free again.

"Good girl," Clint says, stroking her face. "Good girl." Now he moves his hips, pulling halfway out in a wonderful friction before driving back into her. Her cunt stays tight. He drops his hand between them and fumbles at her clit. Harder to do from this position, but helpful. She makes the soft, broken noise she did before as he rubs her, and fucks into her harder. "Good."

Wanda's eyes are wide, and her skin is flushed with heat. Sweat dampens her hair, sticking it to her forehead. Clint focuses on her eyes, counting by threes inside his head to keep from coming too fast. She tilts her head up, demanding another kiss, and his concedes, tasting her lips.

She's too new at this, not yet ready to let her body take over. She's writhing underneath him, shifting for position, but she doesn't know what positions feel good and she can't match the rhythm he sets with his hips. It's not bad; nothing about this beautiful girl and her tight, wet heat could be bad. She's just inexperienced and young and clenching him oh god. Clint's spine sizzles as he comes with electric pulsing inside his head, his body alive and spasming into hers as she jerks against him.

For a moment, there's nothing but his shuddering breaths and her gulping ones, nothing but the sticky sweat between them and the gushing wet surrounding his cock as he slides out of her.

Clint kisses her again, as tenderly as he can. "You okay?" She nods. He rolls off beside her. The covers are a mess. They're a mess. He kisses her shoulder. "Let's get under these."

They're still sticky under the blankets but it's warm. He holds her, taking in the sweet trembling twitches she makes as tiny aftershocks move her body. Not bad, he thinks, proud of himself. His own first time had been a fumbling disaster, and his first time with Laura hadn't been great. Wanda sees something cross his face. "Are you okay?" she asks, still unsure after everything.

He pushes away the memories and kisses her cheek. "Fantastic."

* * *

Clint wakes an hour later. Wanda's out of bed and in the flat's tiny bathroom. She comes out, still naked and gorgeous in the low light. "Hi," she says with a shy smile.

"Hi." He tries to suss out the emotions on her face. Worry? Regret? He's seen her in some pretty bad places, but she looks happy enough for someone on the run from the authorities who just lost her cherry to someone almost old enough to be her dad. Not quite, he reminds himself. He doesn't have that many years on her, but he does have a few.

"You up for some dinner?" he asks her, but before the last word is out, Wanda has crawled back under the blankets and is pressing against him, warm and ready. His mind jumps to a bad joke about eating, and drops it even faster as she kisses him, hard.

He wasn't expecting round two so fast but he's not going to object. He grabs her shoulders and pushes her to the bed. "Good morning," he says into her mouth.

"It's eight at night."

"It's eight in the morning somewhere," he argues, running his hands down her body, paying attention to how she undulates at each deliberate stroke.

"In Samoa."

He kisses her neck. He was on a mission to Samoa once but Wanda's the one who knows the time difference. "Did you pull that out of my head?"

"I can't read your mind," she says with a huffy laugh. "I can only put things in here." She raises her hand and places it on his forehead.

Clint jerks back, grabbing her wrist instinctively. "Naughty. I should spank you for that."

He instantly regrets saying it. Wanda's been through hell. There's no telling what the Hydra goons did to keep her in line. There's a widening to her eyes and a quickening to her breath, and he's about to drop the biggest apology ever when he pays attention to her reaction.

"Wanda?"

She's still shy. She doesn't know how to express things to him. Jesus, she was still a virgin at lunch time. But he wonders.

"You're right. I've been naughty."

His mouth goes dry. "Then we'd better make sure you don't forget being naughty."

She moves, and shifts to her hands and knees, letting him take a nice look at her ass. His brain sparks with heat again, but here she is and she wants this. He clings to his own sanity long enough to say, "Tell me when you need me to stop. Understood?"

She nods, and her pupils are dark, and her face is needy as Clint moves behind her. He bring back his arm, not far, and slaps her buttock, not hard. He's never been into pain play, and he doesn't intend to put her through more than she wants. She might be here for nothing more than a quick butt slap. Wanda says, "Do I say, 'Thank you, sir, may I please have another?'"

"If you want." He smacks her butt again a little harder, watching her face. There's a twist of pain and something else.

"Thank you, sir. May I have another?"

Clint widens his hand, bringing it down in a stinging slap. Wanda cries out, and he pulls his hands back, but she says, "Thank you, sir. May I please have another?"

He spanks her again, then rests his hand on her butt, his thumb sliding down to stroke her labia. She's wet. This is turning her on. Without request, he spanks her again, three sharp slaps in a row. His hand is hot and throbbing, and he alternates with the other for three more. Her pale skin is fire red and she's breathing hard. He can't stop himself from bending in to her and taking a taste of her desire, wet and ready for him. Wanda groans as his tongue delves into her, then tickles at her clit.

"May I please have another?" she breathes, and he spanks her again with two hard spanks. He's going to have to stop soon or he'll fuck up his own hand. He rests his hand on her ass again, and his eyes are drawn to the tight pucker he sees there. With his right hand, he takes two fingers, drawing them through the dripping wet between her cunt lips, then presses the tip of one finger against her asshole.

He spanks her once with his left hand and pushes the tip of his finger into her ass. Wanda hisses but she doesn't tell him to stop. He spanks her again with his left hand, pushing the finger in a little deeper. She's even tighter here than she was in her cunt, all gripping heat, not too different from the fire inside his head as he watches her. Another spank and his finger is all the way inside her. Another, and his mouth pushes against her pussy, licking her, drinking her down while he moves his trapped finger. One more spank and Wanda screams, her body jerking and writhing in her orgasm, crunching down on his finger as he licks her through her peak and into a second one right after.

He withdraws his finger from her, as careful going out as he was going in, and wipes it against the blanket as he helps her lie down. He spoons up behind her, his hand soothing her sore ass with a tender massage. "That's what you wanted?"

"I didn't know what I wanted," she says into the pillow. "That was good."

"Good." He's hard and ready. "I want to take you like this."

She nods, and he takes himself in hand, sliding between her legs and into her cunt with a delicious friction. She's still tight here, and will be, but she's already eased a little from before. "Good girl," he breathes into her hair as he moves his hips into her. His left hand slides forward, looking for her clit and finding it with a hurried thumb. She jerks into him, still riding her last orgasm and heading for more as he fucks into her from behind. God, she's so wet. He could do this all night, sliding in and out of her perfect, soft heat.

He wants to do this for hours and then he remembers the clench of her ass on his finger and he comes suddenly, gratefully, his body spilling into hers with a fiery wave.

He rests against her, wrapping her in his arms, and he stays inside her as he nods off again.

* * *

The problem is, they don't have a lot to do. Sure, they stay in what limited contact they can with Nat, Steve, and Sam, but there's little word. They can prowl the streets around this crappy apartment to keep the peace as vigilantes, and there's some satisfaction in that, but Clint can't bring out his bow and Wanda can't pull out her powers unless they want to leave fast.

So they train, and spar, and fuck. All three are a nice way to pass the time, but he starts worrying that's all they're doing. He joined Steve in the prison break because he didn't have a home to go back to and he wanted to make a difference out here instead of rotting under the sea. It's diverting enough, breaking the heads of some would-be muggers and a few guys who'd rather rough up the working girls than pay them, but it's not superhero business, at least not the business he's used to. Maybe that kid in Queens, the one who sounded like his balls hadn't dropped yet when they fought, maybe he likes walking grannies home and stopping car thieves. Clint's fine doing that, but he thought he'd be doing a lot more world-saving, and a lot less dealing with purse-snatchers before going back to the apartment with Wanda for some post-patrol stress relief.

It's not a huge problem, he thinks, sliding his cock into her as she moans. Not the worst problem to have, not when he's driving into her with a hard pace she loves. But a problem.

* * *

He gets the message from Nat first thing one morning. He woke up with Wanda pressed against him, and climbed out of bed to make them breakfast. Now he's standing naked in the tiny kitchen, staring at the short note she sent. It's got their codes scratched in the right ways. Not even Laura ever knew these codes. Fury might have, Clint admits to himself in the thin sunlight. Fury wouldn't send this message.

 _Laura wants to meet with you._ There's a time and date, and an address. It's in Paris, two days from now.

"Shit."

He's got borders to sneak across and INTERPOL to dodge. He can get there in time if he leaves now.

Wanda's still asleep. He rubs his hair with his hand. If he leaves her a note, she'll be gone before he gets back. He's supposed to be watching her.

Two days.

Clint goes back into the bedroom and slides under the blankets next to her. "Hey."

"Hey," she says, coming awake.

"Something's come up. I need you to stay here. I'll be back in about four days."

That wakes her completely. Wanda sits up, clutching the blanket to her chest. "What is it? Is Steve back?"

He shakes his head. "It's something … " He lets out a sigh. "Something about my old life. I have to put it to rest."

Her face takes on a strange cant. "I'll go with you."

He pictures that disaster for a hot second and takes her hands. "Not a good plan. You'll be safer here."

"I don't need to be safe, Clint."

He kisses her head. "Agree to disagree. Promise me you'll stay put. I'll bring you something nice when I get back."

She still doesn't look happy, and she'd be even unhappier if she knew where and why he was going. Part of him wants to kiss her and make love to her now as an extra promise, but he knows if she finds out, and he has a feeling she will, that she'd take that exactly the wrong way.

* * *

Paris is as hot and crappy as he remembers from the last time he was here. His mood isn't improved by the amount of effort it took to slide into the country. His skin prickles with heat and worry. This could be a trap. This could be anything.

He's late by over half an hour. Not bad for how far he's come, but late. Laura is waiting at the café wearing a yellow scarf he remembers from ten years ago, bright in a friendly pool of sunshine. She's cut her hair in a style he doesn't like. He wants to join her and instead checks his perimeter while she waits, tearing the pastry she's ordered into small bits, only a few of which wind up in her mouth. Nervous habit, one he knows from the old days.

It seems safe.

Like he's late for yet another date, he slides into the chair opposite her. "Have you ordered yet?"

Laura fixes him with a long stare. "I didn't know what you wanted."

For a moment, he's ready to banter back and pretend things haven't changed. For a moment, this is a happy moment borrowed from an earlier time.

A breeze blows up, and a cloud brushes over the sun. He sees her in the dimmer light, really sees her, and in a twisted sort of ache, he realizes that earlier time is over. Laura is his past now. "I should stick with coffee," he says, and lets her signal the waiter. His French is better but he's here undercover. "Are the kids all right?"

"They're fine. As fine as they can be with their father wanted by INTERPOL and half the governments on the planet." A small weight eases from his heart. He hasn't let himself think too hard about the other reason she might have needed to see him. "They're staying with my mom for a week."

"Do they know you're here?"

"No." She takes a sip of her wine. "You look all right for being on the run."

"You look great," he replies but the words are automatic. She's still pretty, and he can acknowledge that objectively, but the spark he used to feel when he looked into her eyes isn't there. He's been wondering why she asked him to meet her here, whether it's to get him arrested or take him back. It doesn't matter. "I need you to know something."

"I know a lot of things, Clint."

"Never doubted it," he says sincerely. "But for now, I need to tell you. There's someone else. If this is about taking things back to where they were, I can't and won't."

Laura gives him another stare. "It isn't about that. I've loved you since about a week after we met. You have been my partner and best friend all that time." She strokes the edge of her glass as the waiter brings Clint his coffee. "Then Steve wanted your help, and you ran off, and I realized that I've never been your partner or best friend."

Her words sink in. "It's not Nat."

She stares. "Of course it's not Nat." Laura shakes her head, and he almost laughs. By the end of everything, Clint was privately convinced Nat and Laura were slightly better friends with each other than with him. "Nat's the point, though. She and your other Avenger friends are a higher priority in your life than we are."

"That isn't true."

"It is, and once I accepted that, I realized it was unfair to all of us to keep making you act otherwise. You need to be out here, helping people, being a hero. That's who you are. I could wish otherwise, but wishes are for magic lamps."

He doesn't like hearing this. He also can't deny what she's saying. "Did you tell Nat to have me come here to explain why you divorced me? Because that could have been an email."

Her face softens. "No. I wanted to see you to tell you face to face that it wasn't because I don't love you, or that I don't want you around. When this is all over, you're still welcome back home. The kids love you and miss you, and we'd all like to see you again. You can even bring your new person. Have I already met her? Him?"

Part of him still thinks this is a setup or a trap. Without taking his eyes off her, he takes in his peripheral vision but nothing catches his attention. "Her. No. But you will. Once we stop running for our lives, I'll bring her to visit."

Laura takes his hand and leans forward. She places a kiss against his cheek. "I'm happy for you," she says, and he knows her well enough to know she means it.

* * *

Wanda's not at the apartment when he gets back. He checks the bedroom and the bathroom. The bed is made. The dinky little sink is still wet at the edge of the bowl. She hasn't been gone long. That could mean she'll be back soon, or not for hours.

He's sore and tired. The bathroom has a tub with a shower head on a stick. Under the spray, he scrubs down with the strongly floral soap Wanda likes. It smells like her, and soon so does the whole bathroom. He dries off, finds a clean shirt and boxers, and tosses what he's been wearing for the past week into the tiny washer-dryer in the kitchen. He looks in the fridge to see what they've got on hand.

The problem with not knowing how long Wanda will be gone is not knowing when to have dinner ready. He marinates the vegetables in that fermented vinegar Wanda found at the shop two weeks ago, and splashes some over what's he's pretty sure is lamb, along with some salt and a handful of the more fragrant spices they've picked up. After an hour, he decides she'll probably be home soon, and he starts cooking. The tiny apartment fills with delicious smells. Clint's never been the best chef but he's had to feed himself any number of times, and he's not too bad at this.

He hears the door open, and calls out, "Hey!" before she can freak out that there's someone here.

Wanda comes into the small kitchen. She watches him warily, her face caught in confusion, hope, and fear. "You're back."

"Told you I would be." He deglazes the pan with a bit of cheap wine while she watches. "I hope this is lamb. I wasn't sure. Still can't read the language."

"You read it fine. Clint?"

He puts everything on plates and pours the sauce over top. "Yeah?"

"Where did you go?"

He puts the plates on the tiny table and sits down. After a moment, she joins him. "Laura wanted to talk."

Wanda's face is a mask. Clint reaches for her hand, and it's cold, trembling. "So we talked. She told me the kids are doing all right, and I told her I had someone to get back to here."

"You're sure?"

"Never been surer of anything in my life. Which, life lesson, is not a great thing to tell your ex-wife."

"She's angry."

"No, she says you're welcome to come visit when I do. You know, when we're no longer wanted criminals." He gives her as gentle a smile as he can. "I can't wait for you to meet the kids."

Wanda smiles back. She takes back her hand and gets a bite of her dinner on her fork. He watches her face as she chews, her whole expression lighting up. "This is good."

"So what did I miss while I was gone?"

It's nice. They're sitting in their little apartment together like two normal people who live normal lives, eating a normal dinner. The location and the company may not be what he considered normal six months ago, but he can admit he likes the change.

They spar after dinner in the living room. Wanda pulls the collar out again. "I need to practice."

"If you say so." They square off, and he jabs punches at her, proud of how well she blocks him. He sweeps her legs from under her, but she recovers with a jump that almost puts her into the wall. This isn't the best room for sparring. They keep working anyway, Clint keeping an eye on her form, and Wanda moving more smoothly than she had when they'd started out. "Nice job."

"You're going easy on me."

"Am not." He increases the speed of his attacks. Even without her powers at hand, she's keeping up with him easily. He changes up his attacks, and she blocks him, managing to knock his legs from under him. He takes the fall. To his surprise, she climbs onto him and kisses him. His arms wrap around her. This isn't how training is supposed to go, and it's not how it's supposed to end.

"I missed you," she says between kisses.

"I missed you, too," he says, and means it. He reaches for the collar to get her free of the cold metal, but her hands stop his.

"Leave it on."

"You sure?"

"I trust you."

He worries that her trust is misguided, that even if he doesn't hurt her here and now with her powers in check, he's going to hurt her more deeply by mistake or by stupidity. He doesn't want to, and he'll do everything in his power not to. As she gives him a stare full of want, Clint swears to himself he'll protect her heart as hard as he protects the rest of her.

The bedroom is a few steps away but the sofa is right here. Wanda melts onto the cushions as he presses her down against them. He slept enough nights out here and knows every small bump that poked his back in the night, but she's lounging like it's a fine bed plush with quilts and slick sheets. Her shirt slides off with her bra right after, and he presses his mouth into the valley between her breasts, nuzzling in the warmth of her skin, tasting the sweat she's built up during their workout as one hand squeezes the curve of a firm tit. Then they're kissing again, and he's lost, his hands falling to her sides as her mouth makes soft promises against his.

Her hands work at his belt, dulled a little by the collar's effects but still nimble enough to unfasten the buckle and unzip him. Clint hisses as she takes him in her chilly hands then groans as she starts to stroke.

"You going to put this in me?" she asks into his mouth.

He has to bite back another moan. "Not yet. You're not ready." Belatedly, his own hands find the fly of her jeans.

"I've been ready for days." Wanda tastes his jaw. "I've gone to bed touching myself, and not finishing. Waiting here for you."

If he didn't know for sure her powers are cut off right now, he'd be certain she's just shoved a white-hot lance of desire into his brain, pushing all the way through to his groin. His mind fills with the image of her spread out over the bed, her fingers rubbing slow circles at her clit while thinking about him. Somehow his hands still work and he gets her pants down. The second his fingers reach her, he feels how wet she is already, how wet she's been for days, aching for him to come back.

He ought to take an hour or more, lapping up her sweet wetness, roaming his fingers over her skin and delving into every tight crevice as she squeals and writhes. He should whisper filthy words into her ears as one thumb rubs her clit, two fingers press into her cunt, and a third finger pokes into her ass.

Maybe later tonight.

He's ready, and so is she, and Clint drives into her with eager passion, wallowing in the slick radiant heat and the glimmer of Wanda's gaze as he watches her face. He'll never get over how beautiful she is, never get past the warm smoothness of her skin and the clench of her cunt. He'll never lose his desire for these perfect moments here with her, loving her.

"Harder," she says with a tight groan, and there is nothing else in the world now, no past, no future, no superheroes or vengeful villains, no crazy robots or gods or aliens. There's just Wanda, crying out in pleasure beneath him.

* * *

They rejoin Sam and Steve in Oslo. Nat sends a message that she'll join them as soon as she can. For now it's the four of them, Wanda happy to hug her friends, grateful for that small return to normalcy. Clint's not a hugger, not with coworkers, not even with Natasha. He settles for a handshake and a tip of head as Sam looks at Wanda.

"You're all right?" he asks her. "Those guys in Chisinau did a number on you."

She nods. "Clint and Nat have been training me in hand-to-hand." She puts up her fists the way she does when she and Clint are play-sparring. "Come at me."

Steve says, "As funny as it would be to watch you kick his ass," to which Sam responds, "Hey!" Steve grins and goes on, "We should keep moving. I've got us a safe house lined up for tonight. Sam and I were checking out some rumors about some wannabe Nazis setting up shop here. I think we should all pay them a visit tomorrow."

And that's Steve all around: he divided up the world into the Good Guys and the Nazis decades before Clint was even born, and frankly, wading into battles at his side over the past few years, Clint has come to see his point. They might have complicated problems with complicated answers, but there are still far too many idiots out there who are happy to play the part of pure evil. Putting them out of business is always good for his mental health.

The safe house isn't half as nice as the apartment they left behind but they've all stayed in much worse places than this. There are a couple of rooms, if you can call a closed-off closet a room. Clint keeps his knapsack on his shoulders while the others set up bedrolls. Nat will be here soon enough, and she'll probably take the second room with Wanda. 

But that's tomorrow. Maybe the day after.

"You coming?" Wanda asks him, not exactly in front of the others, and not entirely in private.

"Not sure I should."

She gives him a look, and he's familiar enough with Wanda's stubborn face to recognize it now. "You're embarrassed."

"Not of you. Those two jokers are never gonna let me live this down. And Nat's going to be even worse."

"They're going to be happy for us," she says with a firmness he can't doubt. He's not sure things can be as simple as that but Wanda's expression says otherwise. "Come on, Clint. It's cold in here. You can keep me warm."

Aware that that semi-privacy is already gone, he feels Steve and Sam watching him. Without looking at them, without looking back, he follows Wanda into the little room and shuts the door.


End file.
